


Lights and Batteries

by yubiwamonogatari



Series: The Azhâr Series [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Azhâr side fic, Erebor, F/F, Gen, M/M, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 23:38:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5225561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yubiwamonogatari/pseuds/yubiwamonogatari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A true account of what happened on December the 2nd, T.A 2766, and on the 5th of February T.A 2806, as taken from eye-witness accounts, and the record-logs kept by the scribes of Erebor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lights and Batteries

 

 

 

_T.A 2766_  
_December 2nd_

 

 

 

Athil brushed a few specks of ritih-bulmâ-labmâ from her fingers and inspected the contents of the clay jar with a frown. It wasn't working. The zigili'n had simply become more like a gritty paste, the silver mixing with the whitish, soft metal to create a very definite... grey.

Not even a nice grey. This was the colour of dirty marble, or ruined opal. She scratched her head, careful not to dislodge the piled-up braids tied high and out of the way with colourful strips of silk ribbon.

It could make an alright dye, maybe. Or a paint.

She sighed heavily, looking up towards the high, granite ceilings of the Mazzulibhêr \- as if they would somehow give her the answer. But the little nook in the great halls was silent in response. The sounds of activity rang out around her work-space – one of many within the massive chamber.

Footsteps sounded behind her – ones she knew better than any other.

“You've got a frown deeper than a mine. I suppose it's not working.”

Athil turned with a deep sigh, showing the mixture to her wife. Hildi took the pot, turning it in her wide hands before she laughed and shook her head, the obsidian locks of her beard braided up into her hair in a practical, elegant style – though a few strands had come loose after a day's work.

“You've made some nice dirt,” she grinned, laughing again as Athil snatched the pot back from her.

“I'll get it right soon enough,” Athil huffed, elbowing her wife out the way and setting the jar down. She gripped the raised edges of the marble table – an addition made after she'd knocked over one too many jars and sent them shattering and clattering to the granite floor.

She sighed, closing her eyes and leaning into the gentle kiss pressed against her whiskered cheek.

“You'll get it, amrâlê,” Hildi smiled.

“Maybe,” sighed Athil, bringing her hand up to wipe a few smudges of black soot from her wife's russet brown forehead, pressing a soft kiss there and gently pushing her away with a laugh, “But certainly not while you're distracting me so spectacularly! Don't you have work to do yourself?”

Hildi grinned and wiped her fingers across her forehead to get rid of more soot – though all she did was rub more on. She took a step back from Athil to give her a little space, leaning on the table.

“I've finished. I'm going down to the Mannur Bunûn. I've been told in strictest confidence a caravan from the Orocarni has come in, and it's got a shipment of those _exquisite_ almond flour and honey sweets.”

“You're going to buy a whole box, aren't you,” said Athil drily, pouring more zigili'n into another clay jar. She put a loose stopper in the top, a hole in the middle of it.

Hildi laughed and pressed another kiss to Athil's cheek.

“I'm going to buy three,” she whispered, dodging out of the way as Athil groaned and batted at her wife's hands, shaking her head ruefully.

“If you eat them all before I get home,” she called out as Hildi laughed again and started to walk towards the exit, “I'll not make you any supper!”

Athil watched as her wife left with a skip in her step. She shook her head fondly, picking up a copper tube and another jar of zigili'n, this one with a stopper low in the side. Forty three years of marriage, and she loved her more and more each day. But how could she not, when her wife was the most beautiful, the most clever, the funniest, sweetest-- …

“Rukhs-kekhaf!” she gasped as she was walked into, just as she'd set up the two joined jars on two small, stone blocks, so the pure zigili'n in the higher jar could slowly run into the lower jar containing the gritty, paste-like mixture.

Athil watched them both topple off the blocks and down onto the table, but before she could breath a sigh of relief when neither of them broke, the dwarf who'd bumped into her dropped his pot down onto the table. A pot of steaming, yellowish, smelly water washed over everything – instantly trapped by the high rims in a deep puddle.

“... I'm so sorry,” Grettir winced, flashing Athil a wide, apologetic smile as his cheeks tinged pink under his tawny skin. The ends of his white beard were frazzled, coming loose from the braid, and he looked frantic.

She took a deep breath and pushed down her frustration.

He hadn't meant to. It had been an accident, and he'd apologized.

“It's fine. It's fine. It wasn't working anyway,” she added drily as she reached forwards to pick it up by the copper tube. It was still attached, and some of the water had washed into the loosely stoppered jars – though very little of the zigili'n and failed liquid-mithril had spilled out.

A sharp, painful jolt pinched her fingertips as they touched the copper, and she let go with a squeak.

“Oh!” Grettir exclaimed, “Sorry! The water's hot! And the smell – it's got sulpher in it.”

“No, it's not...” Athil touched it again, jerking back when another pain flashed through her fingers, “Touch the copper!”

Grettir looked from her to the table and back again. He peeled off his thick, leather gloves and grabbed the tube, only to let go with a surprised yelp.

“What in the name of...” he whispered, looking at his hand.

Athil touched it again, breathing out a laugh at the shock.

“Grettir,” she grinned, “get a notebook and some ink. We're going to be here for a while.”

 

 

*

 

 

_T.A 2806_  
_February 5th_

 

 

 

“Three silver? A bargain!” Halvor laughed merrily, hands patting at his round belly in his mirth as the vendor held up the little glass bauble. The bulb contained a single thread of copper, so cleverly wound and twisted it spelled out the word amrâlimê without ever touching itself.

“All our wares are the highest quality – this is carved from crystal so thin and fine it looks like polished glass, does it not?” smiled the vendor, turning it this way and that in his thick fingers.

The Mannur Bunûn was a bustling hive of activity, traders and vendors from all over Middle Earth gathered. New boats were arriving every day via the Ân Tharkh, each brimming with fantastic wares and ores. The stalls and vendors had been packed full, and every day the Mannur Bunûn buzzed with conversation and trade.

“Crystal! By Mahal! Ereborian skill is something truly admirable,” nodded Halvor as he plucked the bulb from the vendor's fingers to see it for himself. It was beautiful, a little cork stopper keeping the copper in place, “Three silver, you say?”

“Just three silver. A perfect gift for courting, or a spouse!”

Halvor hummed out a noise of agreement. Vali had such a love for tiny, intricate crafts. It was what had drawn Halvor to him, what had made his heart skip in his chest when he saw the other dwarf spinning sugar strands into tiny, coloured gems onto an edible crown. The care and gentleness, the exquisite skill at his fingertips...

“A good price for a good piece,” he finally agreed, handing it back to the vendor and counting three silver pieces from his coin pouch, “And I'll have it boxed up later, thank you, I have the perfect one in my room – so just like that, that's fine, yes,” he nodded, handing over the silver and taking it back with a smile, “Perfect!”

“We don't offer returns if wrapping is refused and the piece is damaged,” the vendor warned, though his attention was already slipping away to more customers eager to see the wares on offer.

Halvor waved his hand in agreement, holding the bulb carefully in his fingers.

Vali would love it.

“Mukhuh targzu nê ta'bari bashk!” he cried, the vendor lifting his hand in acknowledgement as Halvor strode towards the massive doors leading out of the Mannur Bunûn.

He'd done enough shopping for the day, and Vali would be finishing his master-class on sugar spinning soon. The best plan of action was to return to their rented rooms and wait for his husband.

But there was one more place to visit before their chambers.

Halvor headed for the i'lêzbaraj, handing over a copper piece to the operator. He sat on the little cushioned seat on the stone platform, metal wrought around the edges in a banister, studded with gems and inlaid with silver.

A truly marvellous invention. Weights lifted the platform with smooth ease, carrying passengers up and down between the floors of the mountain – circumventing the winding paths and stairs throughout Erebor. Of course there were simple versions in the mines all over Middle Earth, but these were just for passengers, smooth and safe, and very impressive.

It didn't take long for it to fill up and become balanced, other dwarves paying their copper piece and taking a seat, a loud whistle shrilling from a metal device that blew hot steam through various pipes to make musical notes.

The i'lêzbaraj rose into the air, the chamber dropping away beneath them.

“Marvellous,” Halvor breathed. Nothing could quite compare to Erebor. It was the heart of Dwarvendom – the living, breathing, centre of innovation and wonders. Khazad-dûm had been a place of incredible wealth and treasure, mithril like a river flowing through the rock, but Erebor...

It was the greatest Kingdom on Middle Earth, he was sure of it.

The i'lêzbaraj reached the level Halvor had been waiting for with another loud note playing through its pipes. He stepped off, still holding the bauble carefully in his fingers, and started to walk down the corridor towards a large plaza.

Signposts and elegantly carved stones decorated the way, each advertising a different shop or speciality. Glass-blown flower bouquets, colour-bursts that would fly up into the air when lit and explode into a thousand different coloured sparks, sweets and cakes made from the finest ingredients important from all over, wind-up toys that could walk and whistle, instruments of every shape and size, and more. Always more. Always there were new and fantastic things.

But none, Halvor thought as he caught sight of a certain sign, as fantastic as the hadur'arisî.

He entered the chamber, a line of the beautifully crafted hadur'arisî against each wall. Many of them were in use, dwarves of all sorts stood pressing their fingers to the little copper plates as others fussed over them. At each dwarf was a craft-master, capturing the flying, exploding strands into incredible styles in just a few touches.

It was as if their hair had been inflated, weightless and cloud-like. Gorgeous and all the rage, Vali had dropped a comment here or there on how fascinating and comely it looked.

At the entrance stood a silver lectern, a young, blond dwarf standing behind it to greet those walking in through the door.

“Good afternoon, sir, do you have an appointment?” asked the young dwarf, her hair in an incredible, towering style and her blue eyes sparkling.

“I do indeed! Halvor, if you would be so kind,” he smiled.

She nodded, opening the beautifully bound book on the lectern and dipping her quill in the little pot of blue ink. Names and times were beautifully written between neat lines, each rune a work of art.

“Ah! Yes, of course, Master Halvor. Here you are, and right on time!” She drew a line beside his name and put the quill back, closing the book. Another dwarf stepped up with a wide smile.

“If you'd just follow me, Master Halvor.”

It didn't take long for him to shuck his thick overcoat and take out the thin strands of metal woven through his beard and hair. They had the tendency to melt, apparently, and had to be removed.

“Hold on,” Halvor said. He had a little more silver netting in his beard to get out, but his hands were full – the bauble for Vali in one and his coat in the other.

“A moment,” he added, turning the bauble so the little stand of cork and the two separate copper wires were facing downwards, placing it down onto the strips for one's finger.

Light filled the bulb with a bright flash and a shower of sparks before the copper burned and twisted, melting into nothing before their very eyes.

The entire room fell silent. Halvor opened and closed his mouth, slowly picking the bulb back up.

“... Well,” he said, staring at the melted mess of copper, “I don't suppose I'll be getting a refund on that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this little side-fic and foray into the world of Erebor! A massive thanks to my wonderful beta [Tea](http://www.mcmanatea.tumblr.com), and to [Tex](http://www.texasdreamer01.tumblr.com) for listening to my inane screeching about how the hell batteries even worked! Another shout out to my lovely science house-mates who did so much of the hard thinking for me.
> 
> A List of Khuzdul used in order of appearance:  
> Ritih-bulmâ-labmâ - Cadmium  
> Zigili'n - Mercury  
> Mazzulibhêr - Chambers of Learning  
> Amrâlê - Love of mine  
> Mannur Bunûn - Market of Treasures  
> Rukhs-kekhaf - Orc-shitter  
> Amrâlimê - I love you  
> Ân Tharkh - River-Road  
> Mukhuh targzu nê ta'bari bashk - May your beard never grow thin  
> I'lêzbaraj - Elevator (rising-platform)  
> Hadur'arisî- Batteries


End file.
